


The Real Wax Stanford Pines

by mythomagicallydelicious



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (from Stan), Angst, Dipper Pines - Freeform, Episode: s01e03 Headhunters, Gen, Mabel Pines - Freeform, Self-Worth Issues, Soos Ramirez - Freeform, Tears for Stan Pines, Violence against wax figures, no one talks directly to them really, there are happy moments but overall angsty, they're all there it's just more background there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: This is the story of “What if Wax Stan came to life and talked to Stan? What if it acted like Ford instead of Stan? How would Stan react then? What would happen?”





	The Real Wax Stanford Pines

Wax Figures come to life when either no one is around to see them, or when the humans they are with have figured out their secret.

Usually at this point, cursed wax figures would aim to kill those humans. But not always. Some cursed wax figures don’t realize they are cursed, because they have been melted down and recreated, and they do not have other wax figures to guide them into sentience and human-hating. That instinct to stay still when humans are in the room is still there, but hating humans for forcing them into stillness? That develops over time.

So when Mabel built a new wax figure out of the gooey ashes of Wax Abraham Lincoln, her new creation had only two thoughts. One, stay still. Two, come alive when you can.

Wax Stan observed everything that happened around him after his creation. His human inspiration came into the room and tumbled over backwards at the sight. He wondered over that reaction for a moment before internally shrugging and seeing how this would play out.

Wax Figures (this cursed variety, at least) reflect the person the creator knows them as. For famous figures, such as Sherlock Holmes, many people have the same type of perception of him, and so many can predict his behavior accordingly. But Wax Stan was the reflection of who Mabel Pines saw him as. Wax Stan inherently knew some of what Real Stan did, but only as far as what Mabel would know Real Stan knew.

Wax Stan did not know he had a twin brother.

But Real Stan did.

Stan, once alone with the wax figure, takes him by the shoulder and starts speaking to him. Calls him Stanford, his full name. Stan treats him like a real, separate person. Despite every instinct that was screaming at him to  _stay still_ , Wax Stan also knew his inspiration was a bit of a rule breaker, and so he dropped his stillness and spoke back after Real Stan asked if there was anything he could get him.

“I’m alright for the moment, but could I sit down? I’ve been on my feet all day. These shoes need better arch support, yeesh.”

And Stan s c r e a m s.

“Holy Moses,  _you can talk_?!” Stan says, pressing a hand to his heart as he tries to understand what’s going on.

Wax Stan feels like he may have made a mistake, but he presses on. “Yes, Stan. I can talk. Didn’t you already know that? You’ve been talking to me like you knew I was alive for the last hour.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t ya say something sooner?”

Shrugging, Wax Stan replied, “We weren’t alone until a few minutes ago. The others didn’t seem to understand I was alive as well. It is against my nature to come alive unless I’m alone or one already knows my secret.”

“ _Hot Belgium Waffles,_ Stanford,  _you’re alive_! Brother!” Stan walks forward, angling for a hug, but Wax Stan stops him before he can with a hand on his inspiration’s upper arm.

“Brother?”

Stan’s expression of hope turns down at that. “You, you said you were alive, that you were Stanford Pines. Don’t ya know who that is?”

Wax Stan snorted and answered. “Of course! I’m Stanford Pines, owner of the Mystery Shack, resident Man of Mystery. I give tours to suckers and grab any buck I can off of them. I’m watching my great-niece and nephew this summer. Our,” he pointed between Stan and himself, “only brother is the twins’ grandfather.”

Stan looked crestfallen. He pulled his arm out of the grip Wax Stan still had him in, looking down and to the side, where Wax Stan thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his eye.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Stan. What’s wrong? You look like you got hit by a bus. Ha!”

“You’re not…how do you know what you know about who you are?”

Stan is still not looking at him. Wax Stan moves forward and pats his doppelganger’s shoulder, leaving his hand resting there. “I know what my creator knows, Stan. It is part of being a wax figure.”

Stan unexpectedly let out a low laugh at that. “So, everything you know about me, you learned from Mabel?”

“Yeah.”

Stan mumbled something under his breath and laughed again. But the laughter wasn’t happy. It struck Wax Stan as sounding painful, like forcing air out of his lungs instead of freely doing so. Wax Stan remembers laughing like that when the police caught them for counterfeiting last week. It wasn’t an enjoyable sound.

Stan seems to be sizing up Wax Stan in his mind, eyeing him, gearing up to ask something.

“If I wanted to make one change to who you are, reflecting a different person in my design, would you become them, then? Even if it was a small change. Would you become who I intended, then?”

The intensity in Stan’s voice was clear. Wax Stan thought it over before replying.

“Yeah, I think so. That seems to be how this whole business works.”

“Would ya mind if I introduced ya to the  _real_  Stanford Pines, then?” Stan had that fragile hope in his eyes again, and Wax Stan found it impossible not to fold.

“Give it your best shot. I’ll go still again for ya.”

“Will it hurt?” Stan blurted out. He looked embarrassed by his question, scratching his neck in that way Wax Stan recognized. Wax Stan smiled and replied, easing his inspiration’s nerves.

“Not at all. Give it your best shot.”

With that, Wax Stan went still.

And then he became no more.

Stan pulled wax from the shoulders, smoothing them down and making them appear not as big. It wasn’t much, just enough to form two fingers. He reshaped the wax he’d taken and painted it the same shade of skin as the rest of the wax man. Carefully attaching the digits to their proper place, smoothing over the connections, making sure everything looked right, Stan stood back and surveyed his work.

_I have no idea what my brother really looks like,_  he thought to himself.  _Not anymore. Ford, my brother, I’m sorry._  Stan talked as he was forming the new figure. Imagining Ford as he last saw him, floating away, pleading, screaming Stanley’s name, asking for help. Telling the new creation how close they’d been as boys. Brothers, twins, inseparable. How sorry he was for what happened. Not knowing where he was now, but still working to bring him home.

“I don’t even know if we still share the same face, brother. But this is the best I can do without raising too much suspicion from the rest of the Shack. Please, come to life, talk to me.”

Stan reflected Ford as he used to know him, the brother who loved him. He reflected Ford as he last saw him, knowing exactly what Stanley had done. He reflected Ford as he hoped to see him again, forgiving and thankful, willing to re-build their relationship together.

And when Stan stepped back, satisfied with his work, he asked tentatively, “Stanford? I—I know you’re there, I mean, alive in there. I,” he cleared his throat as his voice cracked, wincing at the sound. “I just wanted to know if you still wanted to talk to me, if what Wax Stan said worked. You can become unstill to me, I know your secret.”

Stan waited hopefully, watching the statue for any signs of movement.

Wax Ford woke up, trying to evaluate his surroundings before truly coming alive.

He listened to his creator’s plea and wondered over who “Wax Stan” was. A former owner of his own body? He supposed all answers could be given by the man in front of him, who was currently staring at Wax Ford with tentative hope, still speaking.

_Tripping all over his words like I used to, as a kid_ , Wax Ford thought. He couldn’t bear to see his brother like this, so unsure, face pinched with pain, hope dying in his eyes the longer he waited.

So Wax Ford came alive.

“Stanley. I’m here.”

Stan gasped and smiled. “Sweet Moses—Stanford, is it really you?”

Wax Ford smiled back, flexing his fingers and checking himself over. “Of course it is, knucklehead. Who else would it be?”

Stan surged forward and wrapped Ford in a hug that would have squeezed the breath from his body had he any lungs.

“ _Brother_ , Stanford—I wasn’t sure it would work. Before this you were just a replica of me an—“

“What, you head is so big you wanted two of yourself running around?” Wax Ford interrupted, stepping back out of the hug but allowing Stan to keep his hands resting on his shoulders. There was something about the contact that was comforting for both of them, he could tell.

“I—Ford, oh god, Ford, you don’t know how long it’s been.”

Wax Ford rubbed Stan’s shoulder gently. “It’s been 30 years, Stan. But it’s okay.”

“No, no it was  _my fault_ , how could you forgive that?”

Wax Ford thought over the incident while Stan sobbed in front of him. “Stan, I hurt you first. We were both at fault for the fight in the basement. I said some hurtful things, we were both at the end of our physical and emotional ropes. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you, brother.”

Stan’s eyes filled with hope at those words. “You—you mean it?”

Wax Ford smiled. “Yeah, from both of us. I’m sure Real Ford will forgive you too.”

Stan surged forward to hug Wax Ford again. Wax Ford returned it, shushing Stanley and rubbing gentle circles on his back until Stan regained some composure.

Wax Ford didn’t mind. He really felt all of that old love for his twin. Despite being made of wax, it felt right to repay Stanley in his time of trouble, to comfort him. Stan had always been there for him when he was a kid. It was Wax Ford’s turn to be there for Stan while Real Ford was away.

“Oh, sweet Moses. What time is it?” Stan suddenly asked, glancing around for a clock, wiping his eyes dry with a sleeve.

“About 11 am. Why?”

“I told the kids we’d unveil the newest addition to the Mystery Shack at 2. I gotta get everything printed and distributed around town.”

“Take a deep breath, Stanley,” Wax Ford waited for Stan to comply before continuing. “Okay, good. Now, is there any task you can delegate?”

Stan’s eyebrows scrunched up as he repeated ‘delegate’ under his breath. “Um, yeah. I can have the kids distribute the posters in town. Soos can move the wax figures to the portable stage.”

Wax Ford smiled. “Good. You should get started.”

Stan started to leave but looked back at Wax Ford, conflicted.

Wax Ford smiled reassuringly. “I’ll still be here, Stan. It’s fine—go do your job.”

Stan nodded. “Right.” He’d almost left before turning back with an awkward cough. “Oh,  _ahem_ , Ford, I um…I need your fingers.”

“What?”

“The kids can’t know about you. When I’m not around, I gotta make you into Wax Stan again so they don’t get suspicious.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll go wax form again. See you soon, brother.”

Stan looked broken up as he carefully detached his brother’s fingers and stored them in his pocket. Wax Ford’s last thought before becoming Wax Stan again was  _‘hmm, what I wouldn’t have given for that ability when I was a child_ ,’ and something told him Stan knew his brother would think that too as he carefully peeled the wax digits away, sliding them into his inner pocket.

Stan went about his business, setting everything up. Bribing Wendy and Dipper. Tricking the town into looking at how good Mabel did on his ~~twi~~ wax doppelganger.

Wax Stan observed everything from his still form. Stan paraded him around, showing him off to the town, praising his creator’s work. (Mabel beamed from nearby).

He laughed internally as the crowd shuddered at her statement in making him with ‘other fluids.’ He appreciated Stan’s tactics to avoid the angry crowd. Smoke bombs were all the rage, these days.

He also wondered over his wax brethren as they were all moved again. One by one, Soos carefully maneuvered them back to the showroom, except for himself. Stan came back and claimed responsibility for moving him. He was cautiously moved into the TV room as Stan chatted mindlessly at him. Wax Stan didn’t mind. Based on their earlier conversation, it seemed the changes Stan made had worked. He was probably eager to restore the form he preferred.

“Alright, nice and cozy and alone. You feeling okay? Need anything?” Stan asked him.

Wax Stan blinked into motion. “Right as rain, Stan! You want to make your additions now, or talk to yourself some more?”

“Hardy har-har, wise guy. Wax form, please.” Stan tried too hard to sound nonchalant. But his fingers were twitching and he actually said the word  _please_. Wax Stan knew that word was foreign to his vocabulary, so he obliged without any further questions or quips.

Stan delicately reattached the limbs and stood back, expectant, waiting.

Wax Ford came to awareness and felt the room—so to speak—for other presences. Seeing only Stan, he woke up and smiled. “Stanley!”

“Stanford,” Stan’s voice sighed, heavy with relief.

“So, how was your day?”

Stan settled into his chair and told Wax Ford all about it. He let Wax Ford get comfortable too, sitting on the dinosaur skull. Stan rested one hand on his brother’s arm as he spoke, needing the contact, and the wax man said nothing of it.

Stan talked and talked, going on about anything and everything. Wax Ford encouraged him with questions, pulling out laughter from Stan’s stories, the silver-linings in every sad tale. At some point Stan stood, stretching.

“Alright, I gotta take a leak. Don’t you go nowhere—“It sounded like he wanted it to be a joke, but Stan’s voice was edged with fear and expectations telling him not to get too comfortable.

Wax Ford smiled and squeezed his shoulder, standing as well. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Stanley.”

“Ha,” he tried laughing off his vulnerability. “I love this guy!” and walked down the hall to the restroom.

Wax Ford allowed himself to resume his natural pose again, just for a moment, to rest in front of the TV.

He never even saw it coming.

He felt the clean slide of the ax as it  _shnicked_  through his neck. He saw his body topple to the floor as he went rolling. Wax Ford’s head was completely detached from his body.

He heard angry muttering and an odd curse and the sound of flushing and suddenly he was being picked up, fingers over his mouth to keep him from speaking. His eyes widened as he recognized the perpetrators of the crime—the other wax figures!

Wax Sherlock Holmes leaned in close and hissed into Wax Ford’s ear, “Wrong Stan. Next time we’ll have truer aim.”

Wax Ford’s eyes widened impossibly further as he was gagged and hidden away, taken by the wax men.

His imprisonment couldn’t leave him deaf to Stan’s tortured scream, the pure terror and loss ringing in Wax Ford’s ears. He felt rather than heard the ‘ _not again_ ’ in Stan’s voice as he explained to the kids about Wax Stan’s death.

(His brother probably stole the fingers again, just to be safe. Clever. Wax Ford appreciated his brother’s ability to look ahead, even while in crisis.)

He heard the kids take charge on the case.

He heard the next morning as Stan was left alone by Dipper and Mabel, off to investigate. Soos was off that day and Wendy played hooky reliably six times out of ten. Today was one of those six.

Wax Ford worried whether they’d harm Stan as he was alone, but the figures didn’t seem able to come alive in day time as he did. That lessened some of his concern, at least. But he was well and truly stuck.

Wax Ford’s head was immobilized in a vent of the Wax Figure Room. They’d even tied him down, rendering him unable to jump or roll away on his neck. But sounds filtered through the vent systems to his untouched ears, and it broke Wax Ford’s heart.

_“Sixer, sixer I can’t believe I let this happen_ again _. I’m the worst brother in the world. I pu-pushed you into a death-trap dangerous portal. I let ya get murd-murdered. Hot Belgium waffles, Stanford. I-I-I’m so,”_ he broke into deep, shuddering breaths, barely understandable as he continued on, voice catching on some words as he vented out his sorrows. “ _I’m sorry, brother. I’m so goddamn useless. I can’t save you for five minutes, I can’t save you for thirty years. Some, huh, some brother I t-turned out to be._ ” At that Wax Ford heard Stanley dissolve into loud, broken sobbing.

Wax Ford wasn’t sure how long his brother cried. At some point it ended, he heard distant water running through the pipes. He heard slamming doors and sniffles, and then silence.

There were sounds of Dipper and Mabel’s return at some point, and a long yell from outside that sounded like Stan, which put Wax Ford on high alert until the grunts and gasps turned into a phone call where he heard Stan tell Soos to set up the wax room for a memorial service.

The rest of the day was a blur of activity sounds as Stan and Soos prepared everything. He heard Stan tell Soos they were waiting on Mabel and Dipper to begin the service proper.

His brother was  _so close_! It frustrated Wax Ford to know he was so close but couldn’t comfort him.

Then just…silence. A few sounds of the shack creaking around him, sometimes Soos muttering to Stan in a low voice. Wax Ford wondered if he’d risked reattaching the fingers for the service.

It was Stan’s second memorial for himself. Wax Ford was endowed with the knowledge Stan wanted for him. Wax Ford recalled the pain that service caused him. Mourning the brother he was imitating, isolated, alone, in pain. Unable to reach out to anyone for comfort. Stan had heard a couple of snide remarks about “Lee had it coming” and his brother couldn’t even get angry at them for saying so…because he believed it too.

Now, Stan was again grieving for his brother, lost to him once more. Lost on his watch, when he should have done more, been better.

Wax Ford imagined all of the negative thoughts that would be running through his brother’s head. As kids, Stan had tried to hide it, but he knew his brother took more to heart than he let on. “Stupid” and “not good enough” and “worthless” chief among them.

The time passed and finally he heard the kids return home, slamming the back door and wondering into the wax figures room.

(Wax Ford was thankful Soos had been there, else Stan might have lost his head, too).

He listened as his brother got choked up talking about “Wax Stan.” His heart breaking yet again when Stan ran out of the room, distressed, unable to go through this a second time. Knowing it may not even be the last service held for his brother in his name.

There was a rustling and the grate before him was opened, Wax Sherlock took him out, untying and ungagging him, with a hissed warning to “stay silent if you want to live, traitor.”

Wax Ford went into still mode, a showman’s smile he’d never quite perfected in life spread across his face. He watched in silent horror as Mabel and Dipper fought off the evil wax figures, unable to move or help from his place on the wall, knowing he could not reveal his existence for anyone’s sake, at this point. (Lest he be melted before seeing Stan again, chief among his worries).

So finally, finally, after all of the hubbub and commotion and near-death experiences, he’s reunited with Stanley. His smile goes real in the first picture Soos takes of the four of them. Stan sends the kids to bed and Soos home. Finally Wax Ford has his chance to speak again.

“Stanley, oh, you have no idea how worried I was for you!”

“How can you even look at me? I put you in danger  _again_!”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was the other wax men. They held a grudge against you, and just axed the ‘wrong man’. But I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

Wax Ford wished he had his body to comfort Stan with. Just a hand on his shoulder at the least.

Stan gave a low, forced laugh. “Just by looking like me, you were in danger. I—“Stan shook his head and turned away.

“Stanley, what is it?” Ford asked, upset. Stan turned back with tears threatening to spill over again, voice hoarser than normal, breath hitching unevenly.

“I—I can’t  _do this_ , Stanford. I can’t keep splitting my worry between the two of ya. I can’t handle mourning you again. If-if-if you’re not my real brother, I just can’t handle all these copies. It’ll split me from trying to bring you ho-home. And my, ugh, my heart…It’s been thirty years—I can’t do it anymore.”

Wax Ford heard how hard Stanley was pleading through his words. His brother didn’t want to say it, but it was obvious. Having a wax facsimile of Ford was tearing him apart. It was  _pain_  for Wax Ford to be alive, when he didn’t know if Real Ford was, because of him. Wax Ford smiled softly.

“It’s alright, Stanley. Do what you need to do.”

“You, I…I can’t have you here. Even just talking.”

“I know Stanley, it’s okay. It’s for the best. I don’t blame you.”

Stan’s shoulders were shaking now, trying to hold back his emotion.

“Ford, I’ve gotta do it now, before I lose my nerve.”

Stan picked up the head and carried him over to the fireplace. Wax Ford smiled and said a few last words he needed his brother to hear and take to heart before he was gone.

“I love you, Stanley Pines, my brother.”

Stan smiles through tears running down his face and says back in a soft, gravelly voice, “Stanley Pines is dead,” as Wax Ford melts away in front of him.

Stan’s shoulder aches in sympathy of being burned. He stands back from the fireplace and glances around the destroyed room, eyes coming to rest on the untouched coffin. He burns the rest of the body. As the sun climbs higher in the sky, he buries the empty coffin next to where his first empty coffin lies in the back yard.

It is Stan Pine’s second memorial for himself, mourning the brother he was imitating. Every day he wakes up in his brother’s house, no closer to bringing him home, a part of him dies. Stan Pines has been dying for the last thirty years. Now he had two graves to prove it.

Patting the dirt down, he gave a low laugh, full of old wounds improperly healed.

“One more time, Stan Pines is six feet under, and no one mourned but me.”

Stan turned around and walked back into the Mystery Shack. He had a life to get back to misleading.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on my tumblr at https://mythomagically-delicious.tumblr.com/post/165164132845/the-real-wax-stanford-pines (where you can see how it was inspired, as well)
> 
> Comments/kudos appreciated :)


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